Darling You'll Be Okay. (A collection of short stories)

The Gunsling.

Standing alone in the soot and stone.
He draws from his holster a man.
Crawling alone in the soot and stone.
He makes his way home half to death.

It was dusk. The small settlement was silent. All attention was focused on the two outlaws. One dressed in all white, the other wearing black leather. Both outlaws were equal in stature and reputation. And both were equally terrifying.

The man in white was a paragon of valor, a shining star among the cold black sky. He was the savior of the weak. He is the embodiment of all things pure and good left in this world.

The man in black was an a renegade of fear. He was the black that surrounds a star and taints their purity. He is the murderer of faith. He is the embodiment of all things evil and corrupt in this world.
In time and in vain. I will wash my hands of yesterday.

The man in white was a Strong believer of justice, but an even stronger believer in redemption. Deep down he knows this man deserves a second chance, or at the very least a fair trial. But should he have to deal his own form of justice he will do it swiftly and without faltering.
What's it like to see a ghost?

He had seen this man before. He had been in this situation before. But this time he would finish his dirty work. 

The man in black was having different thoughts. He had remembered how he escaped the first time, how he had almost died only to be saved by the sling that he used to hold his rifle.

He knew he couldn't escape the long arm of justice, and today may be his last.
He clenched his fists and said a prayer, for every breath of dusty air.

Both men stood poised. Waiting for the signal, waiting for action. Only one man would leave this town.

Would it be the righteous man and his valiant soul? Or will it be the wicked man with the empty heart?

The towns people stood watching, waiting, the fate of this standoff would undoubtedly effect them as well.
I hear the voices calling. "Take your life."

The signal boomed, immediately followed by a single gunshot.
What's it like to be a ghost?

It was the man in white who took the shot. A man of purity comiting an act against his nature.

His gaze fell to the dead man laying on the ground just yards away from him. A cavity in his chest where his heart should have been.

But the oddest part was his blood. He didn't bleed crimson, but instead a pure shade of white took its place.

The wicked man hadn't even attempted to draw his weapon. He sacrificed himself to regain his purity.

The man in white looked down to his hands which were still tightly clenched around his weapon. To his amazement his hands were stained red, and the place where his heart was felt empty.

The crowd watched in awe as the man in white grew darker and his uplifting smile morph into an unsettling scowl.

His purity tainted, the man in white would never be the saint he once was. He would never again be a paragon of the weak, or an arbiter of justice.

The man was wicked and tainted with evil. While the man who lay on the ground was purified.

A martyr of this world, he made the biggest sacrifice possible. Purifying his sins, and forgiving his lies.

In time, in vain. Well I wash my hands of yesterday.